Memoirs of America
by ncalkins
Summary: This is the story of America, from native to present. Has History facts, warning will be dark. "My memories may be soaked in blood and tears, but their still mine." So far America's mother dies and he's picked up by a stranger.
1. Chapter 1

Memoirs of America

_The Indians, death and new people_

By Ncalkins, Hetalia is not owned by her, nor is the history of the USA! Now beta-ed, thank you!

From the time he was born, he knew he was different. His mother's skin was dark, like soil. Dark, like the bark of the trees. His skin was white as snow, white as the clouds, changed colors from white to light brown (lighter than all the others) to an angry red like a bloody sunset.

Her people knew it too, they knew he was different and they hated him. They acted nice while his mother was around; they treated him no different from the other children of the tribe. However, when she would leave they would spite at him and curse him. He was different so that made him something to be feared, something to be hated. It didn't help that he would stumble and trip over the different dialects that all the different tribes spoke, while his mother spoke it like water. Her people were just waiting for a chance to exile him and they got it the day his mother died.

"Mom?" America approached the prone figure. Black hair spread around her; sweat covered her skin. "Mom, are you okay?"

A ragged gasp was his answer as weak arms tried to lift the draining body up. Course hair hung like rope as the body flipped itself to its back, twitching and flopping like a dying fish. Black eyes once so full of life, now tunnels, only a dim flickering love for the boy that edged ever closer to her to be found within them. The woman coughed, blood as red as a rose lifted from her lips and landed on her chin. More red blood blossomed on her body, though there were no welts or wounds.

America came closer; kneeling beside her, he rested his head on her chest. Her blood stained the clothes she had made for him. Weakly, a hand combed through his hair, a familiar gesture; a calming one.

"Mommy, what's happening?" America asked, and a whispered voice answered.

"My people's time is up."

America frowned; he didn't understand. Her people were still here, one of them stood at the edge of the field and others were near by. His mother's hand stopped running through his hair and the body he leaned on stopped breathing. America raised his head, his mother's hand dropping from his head, leaving his dusty blond hair streaked with red. Blue eyes widened as the body he leaned on gave way, quickly changing to soil. In a scramble, America stood, staring at the clothes that once held his mother- now holding only a pile of dirt.

A high-pitched scream reached his ears; he turned his head and saw a girl from the village where they were staying. She looked horrified with a hand over her mouth, staring at him as if he was a monster. America tried to remember why she would look at him like that, after a while the tribes had stopped fearing him and began to hate him. Then, he reviewed what just happened through the eyes of a stranger.

His mother's clothes were bloody, he was covered in blood and the girl was so far away. Not too far, not to see the death of what the people believed was a goddess; but far away, enough to believe America killed her.

"Wait, you don't understand." America said once more, tripping over his mother's people's dialect.

The girl began to holler and America could hear a word he only heard a few times.

"Kte!" She screamed, pointing at him. The others began to come closer to where the girl was screaming. "Kaga kte ina!"

'_Killed!'_

Those words were unwillingly translated for America because of all of his gentle and loving mother's teachings for him. '_Demon killed mother!'_

"Wonunican!"(A mistake has been made!) America tried to make her understand. He held up his hands in a sign of peace. The girl flinched and screamed louder this time. The girl's father broke out of the trees and took one look around before he acted.

"Iktomi!"(Trickster Spirit) The man cried and threw his spear, letting out a grunt as it flew.

America gave a scream as the spear implanted itself in front of him, only a couple of inches away from his feet. Blue eyes brimming with tears took one last look at his surroundings. The girl still had tears falling from her eyes, the murderous father, the concerned, and the quickly-turning angry people coming out of the woods and at his mother. (Well what was left of her?)

As more weapons began to fly, America turned on his heel and ran. He dodged spears and arrows made of stone and rocks thrown by the women. He heard the angry shouts behind him and the weeping screams of the people mourning their goddess. America pressed his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut for a second, tears leaking out at a faster rate. He ignored the scratches and cuts made by weapons and bushes as he went from open field to deeper into the forest.

He ran for what seemed like forever. His ears were no longer covered but he could still hear their woeful sounds and his heart echoed, if not increased them. They lost a figurehead, a goddess, a person all of the tribes could connect with who helped them connect with each other. He had lost his mother, his friend, and his home in one fatal strike.

America fell to his knees, a whine leaving his throat. That whine turned into sobs, then turning into a heart-wrenching scream. He screamed until his voice went hoarse, tears streamed until his face was red and blotchy. When he could let nothing else out, he collapsed face-first onto the green grass. He stared forward, not bothered by the bugs that crawled on him or the grass that tickled his nose.

When he finally woke up from his stupor, he found himself face to face with a bunny. It was snuggled against his forehead, its nose touching his. Looking at this bunny, it reminded him of a talk he had with his mother.

"_**Why do they hate me?" America asked, blue eyes glancing at the glaring people. His mother turned and looked at them; one well placed look at them going about their business, ignoring the boy trailing behind her.**_

"_**They don't accept your place as this land. They think you're too young to be their home." She snorted and muttered, "The others are losing their faith in me, too, because I can't perform miracles." Louder she said, "Don't mind them."**_

"_**I still don't understand."**_

"_**You will someday."**_

"I still don't understand." America sniffed as he picked up the bunny. He held it close and began to pet it, tears falling from his eyes, wetting the soft fur.

As he felt himself falling into depression, again he heard something. A shadow passed above and began to circle the spot America was sitting. America looked up, tears leaking from the corner of his eyes. A bald eagle landed on a nearby tree; it called again and looked him straight in the eye.

America stared at the golden eye and slowly put the bunny down. He took a step forward and gave a gasp as the eagle took wing. One feather landed at his feet. America watched the eagle leave and felt a strength rise within him. He picked up the feather and placed it behind his ear. He turned to the bunny and said, "First thing's first, I need to find shelter."

The bunny hopped away, turned, and began to thump the ground. America stared at the brown bunny and smiled, "You'll help me?"

The bunny thumped the ground and turned around. With his help, America found shelter and food.

Years passed, and America learned how to live on his own. He hunted, fished, and gathered for himself. He taught himself how to make clothes from animal hides; through trial and error now he was almost as good as his mom at making clothes.

He avoided all tribes, not wanting them to attack him. His only companion was his bunnies. When one would die, he would remember how the natives never let anything go to waste. His mom would probably skin the bunny, eat it, and use the pelt. Just the thought of hurting his only friends, even after death, made him feel sick to his stomach. Therefore, he would bury the bunnies in a field of flowers. He always made sure to bury some food with them. You never know what the dead could need.

Beside that one instant when his first bunny died, he never really thought of his mom. There were more pressing matters, like finding food and helping wounded animals. Slowly, the memories of his mom faded, with only little flashes and sentences he clung onto. He lived in solitude for quite sometime, until strangers came to his land. They shocked him, but also excited him. They dressed weird, spoke strange, and most wonderful of all, they were fair-skinned like him!

The two men who drew his attention the most as these new people made houses out of wood was two blonde haired men. On the outside, they looked no different; but they felt like Mom. Not exactly though, they felt stronger and sturdier. America would watch them and their people, for hours on end, making sure to stay in the shadows.

He learned some of their words and would silently mimic how they walked. He studied the tools they had- bright and shiny like the river under the sun. Not far away, he felt someone else on his land. Having all these new people marching and walking on his soil felt weird. That didn't stop him from studying them though, until one day he was spotted.

Review!

Native American words from Kayitah .tripod. Com

Swedish West India Company established a colony on the Delaware River in 1638, naming it New Sweden. New Sweden only had 600 people, a mix of Sweden and Finnish settlers. The colony was lost to the Dutch in New Netherlands in 1655.

Funny/mean stuff I almost did:

"_**They don't accept your place as this land. They think you're too young to be their hoe."**_

America looked up, tears leaking from the corner of his eyes.

America stared at the golden eye and, slowly, put the bunny down. Then the eagle rushed forward and carried the bunny away.

"BUNNYYY!"L


	2. A new Family

**Memoirs of America**

Ncalkins does not own Hetalia; ooc; dark; history facts at bottom

America was watching this dumpily blond woman hang up laundry. She was humming a tone that sounded so pretty America felt himself edge closer, he left the safety of the leaves and watched as she hung up a big shirt that workers wore. Her blond curls bounced with ever step and swished with ever bend, then she stopped and straightened up staring directly at him.

Blue eyes widened as brown eyes looked at him with surprise. He turned and scrambled for the safety of the leaves, only to trip on his fur leggings and feel them slip down his bottom a bit. America felt red rush to his cheek as the woman giggled and heard her whisper as he tugged his pants up, "So cute~."

America glanced at the woman who had her hand over her mouth, warm brown eyes danced with amusement. America bowed his head and clutching his fur made pants backed away toward the forest.

"It's okay I wont hurt you." She had a nice voice, warm like the sun. "Come here, silly gullunge (sweetie- Swedish)"

America felt himself edge closer, it felt so weird to be around someone and have them talk to him after so long. The lady made her way to the basket and pulled something out; she turned toward him and started to walk toward him. America felt himself tense, his legs buzzed with energy as they bended at the knees ready to bolt like lighting at the first hint of danger.

The women saw that the boy was tense so she stopped and kneeled on the ground to be closer to his height. She held out her arms, the boy tensed even more and lowered himself closer to the ground ready to run.

America's blue eyes blink in confusion at what the woman had in her hands, it looks like the clothes that he had seen little girls and boys wear. It was pure white with a blue ribbon around the neck; it looked like it would fit him.

"This use to be my son's, he's grown up now and I can't have anymore children I'm going up in years. I thought I would wash these and then give them to a family I know, but…" Brown eyes looked at America's clothes with disdain. "It seems you need it more."

Hesitantly America reached for the soft fabric, the woman didn't move as the fabric was slowly and softly pulled from her hands. Once America held the entire shirt, he grabbed the sleeves and held it out in front of him studying the new clothing.

"Come on; let's get you out of those rags and into some proper clothing." The blond lady stood up and held out her hand.

America looked at her hand with weary blue eyes, slowly but surely, he rested his hand within hers'. Warm, soft hands engulfed his and with a gentle pull, he was being lead to the women's house.

The women's house was warm and smelled of something….

America sniffed at the air as the blond lady tugged him into a different room. It had something square, with wood at the head and bottom of it. The lady saw him staring at it and she said, "What, you never seen a bed before?"

America blinked at her he could feel the language she used on his tongue. She sighed when America didn't answer and tugged America's shirt off. America whined as the shirt got caught on his head with one more tug it was off, goose flesh appeared on his skin as the air hit his form. What was going on?

The women began to tug at his pants so she could dress him. America struggled and tried to turn to run, he got caught in his pants and fell out of them onto the hard wood. He winched and curled into a ball he didn't know what this women was doing.

She clucked her tongue, "Come on now. You don't have nothing I haven't seen before."

She tried to pried America out of his ball, but he wouldn't move. He was determined to be like those little bugs that curl up and are so fun to play with. His mind wondered as the lady huffed, he never saw the mischievous look on her face.

America started to relax thinking she left, until he felt something poke his sides. America startled then laid still, there was no way he was going to let this strange lady dress him!

Her fingers worked faster and was rewarded with a squeak, giggles and finally full blowing laughter. America in a joyful haze uncurled, with a trumpet noise the woman slipped the white garment over America's head.

Blue eyes blinked as white cloth covered his body. America stared as the woman stood up with hands on her hips, she nodded satisfied and held out a hand for America to take. America feeling more at ease took her hand. She led him out of the bedroom, she sat him down one of the chairs near a unlit fire place.

"Would you like some treats, dear?" She asked not ever waiting for him to answer before she turned away and headed to the kitchen.

"V-Vem är d-du?" (Who are you?-Swedish) America stumbled over the words, not use to taking.

The women stopped and turned to America with a blush on her face. "O-oh, how embarrassing. My name is Annborg."

"Annborg." America repeated in wonder blue eyes glowing for this stranger, this woman, this mother.

"Vem är du?" Annborg said fluently looking at America expectantly.

"I-I don't know. I don't have a name." _'At least not in your language.' _America thought, Annborg looked shocked then overtaken by pity.

"That's won't do, one must have a name." She said as she knelt down before America. "My name means eagle protection, what would you like your name to mean?"

"I don't know." America shrugged, he felt uncomfortable. He had a name before, he just couldn't remember it. Is it right to take a new name?

'_This is a new situation, a new time, a new place. You are unbound, free. Besides who's to say you can only have one name within your life.' _

With that thought America nodded to himself, he would except these temporary names as himself. While America was thinking to himself Annborg was studying him

"Ander." Annborg decided, America looked at her with confusion. "You new name is Ander, it means eagle of Thor."

"Ander." America tested then questioned as Annborg stood up. "Why eagles?"

"Hmm?" Annborg looked at America as he slipped from the chair he was placed. He wanted to be near her for some reason.

Annborg smiled and took America's hand she lead him to the kitchen and sat him at the dining table. As she busied herself getting the treats for America she spoke.

"Eagles are proud beings. They are fierce, strong, beautiful and fearless. They are noble animals that's for sure."

Annborg place a plate with a helping of two types of sweets. One was a piece of bread that looked baked, it had this white stuff on it and some dark squishy stuff that tasted like berries when America took a bite. All in all it tasted very sweet and within a minute it was gone.

Annborg chuckled, "I see you like Mandelmusslor (Almond Mussel/Almond Shell-Swedish dessert). It's made with almond shortbread, soft whipped cream and a jam with some mixed berries from the forest."

America felt a brief moment of panic, those berries may have been poison. Annborg smiled and patted him on the head, "They weren't poison, we made sure to keep track of what most animals ate and even then were are very careful."

America relaxed and turned to the other treat. It was a dark brow square like soil with white sparking things that reminded him of snow and next to the dark square was a mound of a white stuff that looked like a cloud.

America tentatively tried that and moaned at the taste it was sweet, the outside was slightly crunchy but the inside was soft and moist. America chewed the treat feeling some of it get stuck to his teeth as he swallowed.

Annborg giggled as America gave her a big brown smile and dug in to his treat. "That's Kladdakaka. It's a sticky chocolate cake with a sprinkle of sugar and a mound of clotted cream."

Right then America didn't really care what it was he just wanted more and lifted the plate toward her giving her pleading eyes.

Annborg laughed and took the plate. "No, no more Ander it will give you a stomach ach. If your still hungry I can give you some bread and cheese."

America pouted but nodded anyway, if Annborg was nice enough to feed him he was going to eat as much as he would be aloud. Soon a plate of cheese and bread was place in front of him, America ate everything on his plate. He looked at Annborg and said, "Thank you."

"Your welcome. Now I think you should be getting home now."

"I don't have a home." America innocently said, to him it didn't matter however a small part of him didn't want to leave.

Annborg's smile fell fast, motherly instincts and human compassion welled up inside her. This young boy with the sky blue eyes and gold hair had no home. No mother or father? What could have happened to them and how did he survive? She opened her mouth to say something, anything maybe offer for him to stay here with her. She never got the chance to though because the front door opened and a deep voice that she knew so well called out.

"Olen kotona!" (I'm home!/I'm back home!-Finnish)

"Alvar." Annborg said and rushed to the front door.

America followed behind her only to stop short. Annborg was in a tight embrace with a giant of a man. The man, Alvar, has strong shoulders and thick arms, he looked like one of the workers. Blond hair was tied back, there was stubble on his chin and even though he smiled at Annborg he seemed very threatening.

"Oh!" Annborg remembered they had a guest and suddenly unwillingly America was the center of attention.

Annborg walked behind America and pushed him forward. She knelt down next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder looking up at Alvar she said, "Alvar this is Ander."

She leaned over and whispered into America's ear. "Alvar's name means elf army."

America would have shot a confused look toward Annborg if he wasn't so petrified by the stare Alvar was giving him. Annborg rose and stood behind America, her warm comforting hand no longer on his shoulder giving him support.

Alvar opened his mouth, for a moment America was afraid that Alvar was going to eat him, until instead of devouring him; Alvar and Annborg were in a serious discussion in the language America was still getting use to. Their fast words made America's head spin and suddenly he felt the urge to run as their voices rose.

Annborg's face flushed and her warm brown eyes hardened. Her voice was sharp and deadly. Alvar was scary before now he was terrifying. He growled and rumbled like thunder, his eyes flashed and he waved his hands around. When Alvar pointed at America accusingly causing him to jump and Annborg to place one of her hands on his head. Annborg snapped back at Alvar as America buried his back into Annborg's legs looking at the two clashing forces above him.

As a hand was waved at him again America felt a flush of anger. They should not be talking about him! He felt frustration at the fact that he couldn't understand them. America's cheeks puffed up and blue eyes blazed with indignation. Alvar's eyes glanced at America and took in the new look but quickly dismissed it as Annborg began to screech at him.

America's eyes closed and he concentrated on the speech around him. However instead of hearing the raised voices of the two adults around him, he heard the stomping of feet, the humming of wives baking, the shouts of working men and giggles of children. Those sounds faded and America could feel his brain pressing against his skull like he just absorbed a bunch of information. Suddenly he could understand what was being said by Annborg and Alvar.

America opened his eyes the fight was over and now Annborg was pleading for Alvar to let America stay. Alvar looked at America and then at the pleading brown eyes of his wife.

"Fine," Alvar sighed Annborg clapped happily. "Why did you name him Ander though. He doesn't look like a Ander."

"I think he looks like a Ander!" Annborg huffed as she turned and made her way back outside to finish hanging the laundry.

Alvar stared at America and America stared back. America still felt intimidated by Alvar especially since Annborg was not there to back him up anymore. Alvar was not sure how he felt about America. His wife just swept this boy up, fed him and then insisted that they keep him because he had no home. Alvar felt bad for the kid but things were ruff and everyone was on edge. A Netherlands village was seen near by and getting this village set up was a chore, food was plenty but it was a new land they didn't know what they could plant, what grew there and not even half of the dangers that could roam these lands.

Alvar looked into America blue eyes and felt a shiver travel up his back. There was something about this child as if he wasn't human. Alvar grew uncomfortable with the silence so he opened his mouth and said the first thing that came to his mind.

"You don't look like a Ander." America looked at him, blue eyes blinked in confusion as he tilted his head sideways. Alvar continued with a sigh, "I don't know what my hullu vaimo (crazy wife-Finnish) was thinking."

America giggled tension leaking out of his shoulders, maybe Alvar was not that bad of a man. Alvar saw this and gave an excited gasp, "I know I'll name you something else. It will be my special name for you."

America's eyes glowed he liked the thought of having a special name. Though all three of his names seemed special to him, it was nice to see what people named him. Names reflect people so knowing what people wanted him to be or saw him as was a interesting process. Alvar walked to the living room and plopped down on a chair. America sat right in front of him, looked at Alvar expectedly waiting for his new special name as Alvar studied him.

Alvar scratched his chin thinking of what to call this boy in front of him. He studied the child's hair and eyes, how America held himself and took into consideration the strange vibe Alvar got from him. Alvar leaned forward in his chair and looked America dead in the eye.

"Tarmo, it means energy or power depending on what you want it to mean."

America's face bloomed into a blinding smile, he started to bounce in place and wanted so badly to tell Annborg. Alvar seeing this smiled and shook his head. He placed his finger to his lips.

"Shhhh, that name shall be our secret."

America clamped his hands over his mouth. Blue eyes sparkled with mirth as a giggle escaped him. Alvar smiled and waved his hand at America.

"Go play Tarmo."

America scampered off and so began his life with Alvar and Annborg.

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Mandelmusslor (pic./ recipe)- annesfood. blogspot 2009/01/

www .20000-names  male_finnish_names_

Kladdkaka (pic./ recipe)- - 2010/09/26 /kladdkaka-or-swedish-sticky-chocolate-cake/

**History: In the 17****th**** century Sweden was a "Great Power". Swedish, Dutch and German stockholders went to the new world in 1637 to create the New Sweden Company to trade furs and tobacco in North America. Under the command of Peter Minuit the company first sailed for the new world in 1637 in two ships the Kalmar Nyckel and Fogel Grip. Minuit had also been the governor of the Dutch colony, New Netherlands centered in Manhattan Island, from 1626 to 1631.- Www . colonialswedes History / History. html**


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